Moon decided that he's done seeing his brother hurt so he makes sun a new body transferring memories and everything into the new body making sun his new little brother!!! Moon protects sun any chance he gets and even if that means he had to get rid of a few people he will to make sure his brother is safe! As the months go on and everyone shows up he protects sun more strictly but still allows sun to be himself and be alone whenever he wants to be! :3
Nice x Moon Short Fanfic (soft enemies to lovers / Moon POV)
Another day waking up on the tenth floor of the Heroes’ Tower, this time, alone. Sometimes, it still feels like a strange environment to me. After all, it’s only been a few months since Nice and I moved in together. Actually, it’s only been a few months since we even started seeing each other at all. Even though I have my own floor in the tower, we spend most of our time on his now.
At first, it was just a formality — something required by our contract with Treeman. We didn’t like each other. Honestly, we barely even knew one another. If it hadn’t been for our fans relentlessly insisting we’d make a perfect couple, we probably wouldn’t have exchanged a single word to this day.
It all started after that mission — the one where I nearly died. If Nice hadn’t shown up at the last second, catching me as I fell from that rooftop and whisking me off to safety before finishing the fight, I wouldn’t be here right now. Thousands of eyes were on us. Not just the ones on the street, but on every screen across the country. And what did they see? Nice — graceful, perfect, smiling for the cameras like saving me was effortless. Like he’d planned it all. The hero.
In that moment, it was as if the entire fight before that — my fight — had been erased. No one seemed to remember how hard I’d battled to protect them, how close I came to stopping the enemy myself. All they saw was that final image: me in his arms, as if I were just some damsel caught in the hero’s glow. I won’t lie — I resented him for that. I resented the fans, too. For months, it felt like nobody cared about anything I’d done. All that mattered to them was this fantasy they made up about the two of us. The battle wasn’t even over, and somehow I wasn’t me anymore. Just the latest accessory to their “true” hero.
I don’t know why I woke up thinking about that day — maybe because of how much has changed between Nice and me since then.
Back then, we were strangers forced to live under the same roof, selling a love that didn’t exist. Even respect between us was shaky — not just because of the resentment I carried, but because Nice couldn’t stand me either.
Now, I see him differently. I understand how hard it is to stand at the top, to live a life where your choices aren’t your own — where faceless people you’ll never meet decide what you can and can’t do.
People don’t mean harm, but they don’t see the power they hold over us. And we — we live with the fear of what might happen if they ever learned the truth… or decided to use it. It’s a kind of suffocation, not knowing what the next day will take from you.
But somewhere along the way, Nice and I found peace in the roles we play. Maybe even something more.
Lately, I’ve started noticing how his eyes aren’t cold anymore. That piercing blue, once like ice, now looks at me with something softer — like the glacier’s begun to thaw, turning into an ocean that pulls me in.
Back then, waking up next to Nice — or even just having him around the house — only made me feel even lonelier. When did things start to change?
As I sat there, wondering how everything had changed so much, I grabbed the remote from the nightstand and turned on some music. I always needed something playing — the silence was too heavy otherwise. It wasn’t the playlist I wanted, but I didn’t bother changing it.
Humming softly along, I got out of bed and pulled open the curtains. Daylight flooded through the massive glass windows, spilling across the apartment’s empty expanse.
The place is too big — open, white, with no walls dividing the space. Beyond the windows, the city looked small, distant, like a model.
Sometimes, being up here feels suffocating. Disconnected. On both sides of the glass: loneliness.
I reached out, pressing my hand to the window — palm meeting the reflection of my own hand. That reflection had been my only company more times than I could count. It didn’t look any happier than I felt.
Every time I saw that sadness in my own face, my heart would race, and Nice’s image would flash through my mind. If it was hard for me, how much harder was it for him?
Somewhere along the way through the months, the bitterness I felt toward him began to fade — replaced by feelings I didn’t understand. The thought made my chest tight and my skin warm.
I’d watched him come home night after night, looking like he might fall apart — but he never did. He smiled, always. Even when it hurt.
And as we traded words — few but heavy — I realized he and I weren’t so different. I started wanting to help him, wanting us both to have a place where we could just be.
He must have noticed. My voice was softer towards him now, more human. Without meaning to, we’d begun to share pieces of ourselves with each other.
He wasn’t a stranger anymore. But still, I didn’t really know him.
What I did know was that the coldness I’d once seen in his eyes was really exhaustion — sadness buried so deep even he couldn’t reach it. My own struggles had made me treat him coldly too, and I’d been too blind to see that before. I can say that over time, we went from strangers to confidants, he’d become important to me. The only person I could open up to. The only friend I had.
I didn’t realize my left hand had curled into a tight fist, or that a single tear had escaped down my cheek. My fingertips still touched the glass, but my gaze had dropped — as if I couldn’t bear to meet my own eyes in the reflection anymore. Instead, I was staring down at the city far below — so tiny, so distant.
The music played softly in the background, and I was so lost in thought that I didn’t notice the presence behind me until I lifted my head and saw him — Nice — standing there. His reflection in the window hadn’t prepared me. The shock made me turn to face him — then turn away just as fast. I didn’t want him to see me crying.
Too late.
I felt his cold, soft hand gently close around mine — such a tender touch. And then, his voice, low and calm, broke the stillness between us.
“What happened?”
My lips curved into a smile — spontaneous and surprising. The peace I felt just from hearing his voice… it was something I couldn’t quite understand.
I turned to face him fully, gently pulling back the hand he was holding.
“Nice! You surprised me. I thought you’d only be back tomorrow. How was the mission?” I asked, trying to make sure my voice didn’t waver. I was nervous to see him — my heart was beating faster than usual.
“Everything went fine. The Commission overestimated the threat. Honestly, just two heroes would’ve been enough. Since we had more people, we finished earlier. The others decided to stay at a hotel in the area, but I just wanted to come home as soon as I could. How were things here?”
It felt so good to talk to him again after five days apart. Even better to see him so talkative — he used to be a man of so few words.
“Nothing much. I had a few interviews to go to, as usual. I spent a few days with Miss J trying to organize some event to ‘promote our relationship.’ Apparently, people are asking for us to get married.”
“Seriously? Miss J hasn’t mentioned anything about that to me yet. How do you feel about it?”
“Well, it’s not like we really have a choice. I think she figured you’d be annoyed and spared you the topic because of the mission. But I’m sure she’ll bring it up soon. You must be exhausted, right?”
“I am… but right now I’m more hungry than anything. Have you eaten yet?”
“Not yet. I only just woke up. I’ll fix us something to eat.”
“I’ll help you.”
His face had a calm expression — it’s normal for him to always be smiling or looking cheerful. That’s what people want to see.
But I know what hides behind those smiles. And right now, something was bothering him. I couldn’t tell what it was — but it was there.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked me.
For a moment, I got lost in my own head and didn’t even notice that I was staring at him oddly.
“Sorry… I think I’m still half-asleep. You don’t have to help in the kitchen. I know you must be uncomfortable in those dirty clothes. I’ll make the food while you take a shower.”
“If you say so. I really can’t wait to get out of these clothes.”
And that was that. Nice went to shower while I headed into the kitchen to prepare us some food.
By now, I knew his favorite dishes well — it was easy to whip up something quick that I knew he’d enjoy.
Was he worried about me because of what happened the morning he left five days ago? It was hard to tell, and I definitely didn’t want to ask — afraid he’d turn the question back on me, and I’d have to say what had been weighing on my mind.
The food was nearly done, and while I was putting the leftover ingredients back in the fridge, I suddenly heard him call my name from the bathroom.
Startled, I dropped everything I was holding on the counter and rushed toward the sound of his voice.
It wasn’t like him to call me like that — something must have happened.
Was he feeling sick? I knew he had to be completely worn out after the mission.
Even before he left, he’d been showing signs of deep exhaustion — no matter how much he tried to hide it with his poses and smiles. He hadn’t been sleeping at night.
When I got to the bathroom door I asked:
“Nice? Is everything okay?”
“I forgot to grab a towel, can you bring me one, please?”
“Oh! Sure. I forgot to replace your towel since you weren’t here.”
Oof, it was nothing serious. I grabbed a towel and offered it through the crack in the door.
To my surprise, instead of just taking it, Nice leaned in — close enough that I could see the water dripping from his face. “Thank you,” he said, his voice low. But he didn’t just take the towel—he caressed the top of my hand first, his fingers lingering in a way that sent a shiver through me. The warmth of his wet skin against mine made me feel uneasy, my face flush.
I couldn’t look away — not from his face, damp and disheveled, strands of hair sticking out in all directions. It was rare to see him like that. Nice hated disorder. He spent every day making sure no one ever saw him like this. This was only the second time I had seen him like this, and it caught me off guard. As soon as the towel left my hand, I blurted, “It’s no problem,” and turned away, heading for the kitchen.
I needed to calm down. But all I could think about was that night — five days ago.
Six days ago:
Nice was set to leave on a mission the next morning. It was already 9 p.m. when we finally got home after a marketing event not far from the Hero Tower. As usual, he went straight for the shower, while I made a beeline for food. That’s how it always was — our priorities in perfect sync.
But tonight, I was nervous. Earlier, Nice had suggested we do something together once we got back, since he’d be gone for a few days. We settled on watching a movie — which he asked me to choose.
After we’d both eaten and showered, I made popcorn and joined him on the couch. Nice didn’t care for popcorn — hated how the shells got stuck in his teeth — so I polished off the whole bowl within the first fifteen minutes.
The film I picked was about two friends who’d fallen in love during school, only to be torn apart, and who found each other again years later. Despite the lives they’d built separately, the feelings between them hadn’t faded.
Movies like that always comforted me. Through them, I could feel — even just for a little while — what it might be like to choose for myself. To love freely, without contracts or appearances. Without duty.
When I signed with Treeman three years ago, I didn’t realize how permanent that choice would be — that the contract was unbreakable. For so long I regretted it. But lately... I’ve found myself grateful. Without it, I never would’ve met Nice.
We sat side by side, my legs tucked up under me, him sitting upright, posture perfect — like he was still on camera, even now. He never really relaxed.
I laughed at one scene, almost cried at another. Each time, I caught Nice watching me out of the corner of his eye. His expression stayed calm, unreadable. I couldn’t tell if he was even enjoying the film.
I was so warm, so comfortable, and so tired that I drifted off without realizing it.
And then — what is this?
Nice and I were kissing. I could feel his hands gripping my waist, my legs trembling as he whispered my name.
“Moon… ah…”
His voice grew lower, softer — until I woke to the sound of my own quiet moan.
Blinking, I found him looking down at me. Despite being surprised and embarrassed by the dream I'd just had, I was still too groggy to react. I noticed my head was resting in his lap. There was a blanket over me, and his hand was on my arm, thumb gently brushing my skin.
He noticed my eyes flutter open and spoke softly.
“Hey. You fell asleep. The movie’s been over for half an hour, but I didn’t want to wake you. Did you have a nightmare?”
Oh no. He heard. Damn it.
“Nnn...” That’s all I could manage. My body was too relaxed, too heavy, already slipping back toward sleep. The last thing I felt was the warmth of being lifted into his arms.
————————————————————
Morning light filtered through the room. I blinked awake — but something felt off.
This isn’t my bed.
I sat up fast, fully alert in an instant.
Nice’s bed.
I froze, trying to piece together what happened last night. The dream — that dream — flashed back through my mind, and I wanted to bury my face, hide somewhere, anywhere.
And then I saw him.
Nice was still asleep beside me.
What the hell...?
Panic surged, but as I watched him — really watched him — it ceased. He looked so peaceful, more at ease than I’d ever seen him. Nice, who always woke before me, who never let himself rest — right now, he was vulnerable, human.
I couldn’t look away.
He wasn’t covered at all — the entire blanket was bunched around me. Wasn’t he cold? He lay on his back, facing the ceiling, his tall frame graceful even in sleep. The tight fabric of his shirt clung to his body, showing just enough of the lean strength beneath.
And his hands...
They rested in front of him, on top of his stomach, large and pale, the veins visible beneath the skin, the bones sharply defined. Strong hands, but gentle — I knew that much. My mind betrayed me, flashing back to the dream: those hands gripping my waist, pulling me close.
What would they feel like — really feel like — in a moment like that?
God.
Nice is handsome — of course he is — but like this, he was breathtaking.
His messy white hair on the pillow, and his lips, like his pale skin, now had a light rosy tint. His face is so harmonious, with well-defined but still soft angles. His black eyebrows contrasted with his skin and hair, highlighting even more the blue of those eyes, now closed in a serene expression.
My heart started beating fast and my body acted on its own, because without thinking I reached out my hand to caress his cheek. He was warm, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up because I wasn’t expecting that—his skin is usually so cold.
I brought my face closer to his, but the trance was broken when he opened his eyes.
“Did you sleep well?”
His voice — low, rough from sleep — wrapped around me like a soft blanket. At any other moment, I would’ve pulled away, stammered an apology, embarrassed at being caught so close, my hand on his cheek. But not now. His voice made me stay.
Didn’t he think it strange, seeing me like this? But then again, he’d brought me here. Maybe this wasn’t so unexpected.
I found my voice.
“Yes, I did. But… Why did you bring me to your bed?”
He was fully awake now, watching me with those deep blue eyes.
“You were murmuring in your sleep on the couch. I thought you were having nightmares again. I wanted to stay close — in case you needed anything.”
His words hit me in waves: relief, confusion, warmth. I was terrified of what I might have said in my sleep — but more than that, I hadn’t expected that answer.
Before I could sink too deep into my own thoughts, he spoke again.
“Nothing happened last night. I’m sorry if I upset you. I realize now I shouldn’t have brought you here without asking.”
Why is he apologizing? I should be the one…
“Don’t apologize. I’m the one who should be sorry,” I said, and finally withdrew my hand from his cheek.
“Don’t—don’t take your hand away,” he said, reaching his own hand to hold mine and pressing it back against his face.
Before I could react, he turned his head and kissed my palm.
A shiver ran through me, head to toe. His lips were softer than I imagined, and so warm.
“Nice…” was all I could whisper, my voice barely there as I fought to hold myself together — though from what, I wasn’t sure anymore.
Still holding my hand, he sat up, facing me fully now, eyes locked onto mine. I felt like I was drowning in them, sinking into that ocean-blue gaze. His other hand lifted, fingers brushing my neck, thumb resting lightly against my cheek, stopping me from looking away.
“I didn’t know how to say this before,” he said quietly. “I kept waiting for the right time, but I don’t think there is one. If I don’t say it now, I’ll regret it.”
The world seemed to stop.
“I like you.”
I froze. My heart screamed a thousand things, but all I managed to say was, “Why?”
His lips curved, just a little.
“I don’t know if there’s a reason. Since we got closer, you’ve been on my mind all the time. And when I’m with you… smiling isn’t work anymore. My smiles with you — they’re real.”
I wasn’t imagining it. He had said it. But the words I wanted to say wouldn’t come.
He noticed.
“It’s okay if you don’t feel the same. I just needed you to know. I want to take care of you — whatever we are. You’re my best friend.”
The lump in my throat wouldn’t let anything out except:
“Thank you. I… I think we should get up. I’ll make something for you to eat. You need to get ready for your trip.”
Nice gave me that smile — the real one — and leaned in to kiss my forehead before getting up. He didn’t push, didn’t press. He just understood. At times like this, I’m grateful for how well he knows me and how much he respects my space.
I got up too, trying to focus on making breakfast, but his words echoed in my head. I still don’t know how to process everything that was said.
We ate as always, though nothing felt the same. When it was time for him to leave, we hugged — warm, lingering.
“Take care,” was the only thing I said.
“I always do.”
And with that, he stepped into the elevator.
Back to present day:
Yes. After he left, I spent five long days thinking about him… and those words. And with them came an anxiety I couldn’t shake — maybe because I’d never heard a confession like that before, or maybe because it came from Nice. I don’t know. All I know is that my mind ran in circles considering all sorts of scenarios as I tried to make sense of my own feelings.
Maybe he just got swept up in the moment.
Maybe he was bored — looking to stir things up.
Maybe he was confused.
It was hard enough to believe his words were real. But even harder was figuring out what to do about them.
It was in this whirlwind of confused thoughts that our cold beginning, months ago, came back strongly to my mind… Could my feelings really have grown into something deeper? One thing was certain: the moment I caught his reflection in the window — him standing behind me — relief drowned out everything else. If at one point his presence made me feel even more alone, that was no longer the case. His absence these past five days had been unbearable in ways I couldn’t explain. And that’s when I knew: I had to be honest too.
Nice was taking his time coming back to where I stood, the kitchen. It wasn’t long before I heard his footsteps approaching from the other side of the large open space. I heard his steps across the wide, echoing apartment — The space itself seemed lifeless, all white, all minimalist, so empty that it only made Nice’s presence more noticeable as he walked toward me. God, he’s so handsome. My face burned at the thought.
“Do you need help finishing the food?” he asked, his voice easy, comfortable — as if those five days hadn’t weighed on him at all.
“No, no. I finished a while ago. I was just… grabbing this. I bought it for you.”
I set the plain gray mug on the counter.
“You bought this? For me?” His eyes softened, the kind of sparkle that was rare for him. He turned the mug in his hands, as if it was something precious. “Thank you. It’s perfect.” He said, lips curving up in a big smile.
“It’s nothing, really. I just couldn’t understand why all the mugs here have weird prints on them. I know it bothers you — but since you never bought a new one, I thought…”
I hadn’t thought it was a big deal at the time. But seeing his reaction now… maybe it meant more than I realized.
“I have something for you too,” he said, moving toward his suitcase. “I couldn’t leave the city and come back empty-handed.”
He returned with a small package, setting it on the counter. I opened the box — and there it was: a beautiful pin of my favorite cartoon character from childhood. My breath caught.
“Nice… I don’t even know what to say. It’s beautiful. How did you remember I liked that show?”
“I remember everything you tell me.” His voice was gentle, his smile soft. “I know how much that show means to you. The main character does everything to prove he’s self-sufficient and, when no one believes in him. He goes to a deserted island to try to survive for a month and ends up making friends with the animals, which makes him never go back home. You described it with so much passion — how could I forget?”
Still smiling, he added: “You said he was everything you wanted to be. So… I hope that when you finally get to travel the world like you’ve always dreamed, this pin will go with you. It’s selfish, really — because what I want is for you to have something that will always remind you of me, no matter where you go.”
Our eyes were locked. His eyes. Those impossible, ocean-deep eyes.
Without thinking, I stepped around the counter, never breaking our gaze, and stopped in front of him. I took his hand — it felt cold in mine — and held it tighter than I meant to.
“I love the pin. But I don’t need it to remember you.”
Our faces drew closer, our breath mingling, and when our lips met — in that deep kiss, the room around us seemed to vanish. The music I’d forgotten was playing now wrapped around us, soft yet powerful, like the ocean itself:
“And I knew
In the crystalline knowledge of you
Drove me through the mountains
Through the crystal-like and clear water fountain
Drove me like a magnet
To the sea…
I turned around and the water was closing around me...” 🎶
The Monster Melo-Drama, from the December 4, 1807 issue of The Satirist.
If you’re having difficulty making head(s) or tail of this thing, it’s about how Melodrama is Trampling Real Theater. The heads and the guys suckling on the chimera’s teats are all actual people contributing to the Decline of Civilization, or something.
In 100 years today’s political cartoons will also look this goofy.
Plenilunio un jardín sin rosas rosas y extrañas pero gratas caminatas, calandrias que vuelan y aunque no lo creas son risueñas ante la vida que es mas perra que vida,sin sativa ni drogas varias en las pupilas siempre un placer el fundirme en ti, con tinta loca, papel agnóstico,balas y perfume de alelíes, aun no se el como, ni explicar el lugar en que el tiempo ya no quiere paz, ver que la luz se empieza a valorar dia a dia mas, entre ideas de conservatorio pentagramas conjunto de magia abstracta, fe de errata paseando en un templo de soles y aullando bemoles nunca solo, si te veo hasta en el escabio de un navío entre marte, pluton y neptuno estoy con migo y no es una agradable convivencia pero es lo que soy aun en el siglo anterior con hambre terrible y mucha meditación al anterior yo, sin fe en las manos,ni una vida anterior que amordazar en un cajón, seduciré a Esperanza y se que tarde o temprano mi mano se convertirá en roca, pero temerle a la vida son conceptos erráticos que no van con mis días de extraña expresión, poca comunicación y pasos que fuera de ser pasos los veo, siento y disfruto como un iluso pervertido los hermosos sonidos de color carmín sin fin de un cuarto hostil ,inserto en la memoria de un perro, mas que un raro delirio, es gula pura de tu figura sin amargura, gigante y bella en la bruma ya confeso de afecto,creo que dejare mis letras en una caverna de locura senil no se que depare el tiempo,sediento de agua dulce se hace difícil nadar esposado,entonces pienso en tu mano colores brotan dan luz a un canino medio cegado y hastiado pero recuperando sentidos con la vista puesta en el sur del ataúd de cemento o lamento,una cruz de geometría sagrada aires verdes y mucha magia por eso hice este escrito necesito estructuras, trucos,una hermosa luna pero tu eres maga.
